


Westron

by AndiiErestor



Series: Oracle of Imladris [43]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, selective mutism, they call erestor amya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28621194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiErestor/pseuds/AndiiErestor
Summary: They knew little of their son's heritage. Most days, this was something all of them were happy to pretend was fine, but some days it was harder to do so, especially with the evidence of his differences being so difficult to deny.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel
Series: Oracle of Imladris [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1198450
Kudos: 11





	Westron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melpomaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melpomaen/gifts).



> This work would be immediately following part 42 of this series (the one directly preceding this).

“Westron…. Westron…” Melpomaen mumbled to himself as he searched through the library for books of learning. “Where would I... Oh!” He looked up and smiled at the sight of his father, “Hello amya. How are you today?”

Erestor bowed his head with a smile, placing a hand on Melpomaen’s shoulder in greeting. _I am well_ , his countenance spoke volumes for the peace in his heart these days. With a simple raised brow, Erestor peered at the list of books in his son’s hands, _would you like some help?_

“Oh!” Melpomaen gave a dry, nervous laugh, “I’m looking for books on how to learn Westron.”

Erestor frowned, _You… Know how to speak Westron, do you not?_ He began asking himself then if he’d _forgotten_ to teach the boy Westron – of all languages. Perhaps if they’d found him a family in a village similar to the one he was from, Melpomaen might have had a better chance of feeling at ease with the skills and tongues of his people.

_No. No, I definitely taught you Westron. Then… Are you forgetting?_

Fear struck his heart then.

They’d begun to suspect that Melpomaen might be peredhel, as their lord was, but had hoped not to be parted from him so quickly. Now, knowing his memory was already beginning to fail him, Erestor worried for Melpomaen’s well-being.

His eyes shining, Erestor took Melpomaen’s hand and pulled him along to the section of the library where they might find the books of his choosing. Erestor pointed out the books in question and pulled them from the shelves – in some cases opting for a different volume than the one his son had listed.

 _These should all be of help to you,_ he nodded, satisfied that Melpomaen would be busy for quite a while with these. Then, as he simply couldn’t remain quiet a moment longer, “You know,” he paused, his voice somewhat hoarse from disuse, “If you ever want to practice, I am always here for you.”

“Of course amya,” Melpomaen thanked him as Erestor sadly brushed his son’s cheek, a tear falling finally. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?”

Erestor shook his head, brushing his cheek again and brought it to a finely pointed ear. _I should have seen this coming._

“Amya,” Melpomaen hesitated, “I am not leaving, if that is what you’re worried about.”

Erestor heaved a dry laugh and shook his head. _Leaving… That’s one way of putting it._

Then, his son spoke up quietly, “Amya… I know you haven’t taught in very long, but…”

“Of course I will teach you,” Erestor said eagerly, wanting nothing more now than to spend what time he had left with his son.

Melpomaen shook his head, “No… Not me.”

Erestor frowned and tilted his head in confusion, “Then…”

“Rúmil, amya,” he said shyly, “You… You have not met him yet, and he is very reserved, but I think he would like very much to learn. Perhaps… Is that invitation to dinner still open?”

Erestor’s breath left him in a gasp and he threw himself forth to hold his child, “You _foolish_ boy,” he cried into his neck. “Ai, Figwit, how could you frighten me so?”

“Amya?” Melpomaen stood with his hands still in the air as his father held him, then finally he understood. “I am well, amya. I am not leaving,” he reiterated. “I do not think you should worry about such things.”

Pulling back, Erestor kissed the younger elf’s forehead as tears streamed down his face still, “It is shameful to worry your parents so, Melpomaen.” Erestor frowned and sighed finally, “Of course the offer of dinner is always on the table, though I dearly wish you would inform your atya of this as well.”

“Of course amya, I am sorry,” Melpomaen looked down, “I never meant to…”

“All is well,” Erestor wiped the tears from his face. “I spoke in fear. I should not have done so.” He grasped Melpomaen’s shoulder once again, “I shall expect you both for dinner then?”

“I hadn’t meant – ”

Erestor was already walking away, “I’ll make your favourite,” he said as goodbye and waved to his son, already planning his trip to the market and how to inform his husband as to this frankly horrible misunderstanding…

_It is true that he is young, but at his age, any other peredhel would have begun to show signs of aging, unless…_

Perhaps it was time that he and Glorfindel began taking a more vested interest in their son’s heritage.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation:
> 
> amya - mom
> 
> peredhel - half-elf


End file.
